He takes off my dress and throws it in the corner of the room. It lands on some priceless artifact, but he doesn’t even spare it a glance, then he removes my bra with a flick of his fingers, not before taking off the small knife I kept between my breasts and studying it for a second, trying to decide if he has any use for it right now. But he tosses that too, making me suspect his plans could be even more devious.
“Now, grab it,” he commands, looking at the ring, and I swear I just came a little.
I grab the ring without thinking. My arms up in the air as he walks around me, letting his fingers trace lines across my bare skin. He doesn’t miss a single spot from my shoulder blades to my spine, then to my ribs, and finally stopping in front of me, anticipation has built up so much inside me that I’m going to end up begging him soon to fuck me.
When he completes the circuit to stand before me, he cups my breasts, every move calculated to draw a maximum impact. His thumbs brush across my nipples, one of them playing with the piercing there. And they are already hard, responding to their master.
“Fucking beautiful,” he whispers, but the word doesn’t come as a relief or a compliment. I feel it feeding his inner beast, and all of a sudden, his expression turns from calculated to something out of this world.
He drops to his knees before me, and I freeze. But there’s no submission in his gesture, not in the way he grabs my hips, or how his teeth catch the hem of my panties, and he drags them down my legs. His breath catches against my skin as he lifts eachfoot to remove my panties, then he looks up at me from that position, and I feel like I’m melting.
In an ideal version of how a perfect sex scene would play out in my mind, I should be resisting. Should make it harder for him. Make him the one who begs.
But I’m helpless in front of him. All naked and exposed in the flickering light of his treasure room.
He leans in and licks along the length of me in a straight line that makes me instinctively pull on the ring. Then suddenly, he rises to his feet, and I want to scream that I want—no, I need more.
I look at him, still fully clothed, as I stand on display like a rag doll at his service. The imbalance of power is on purpose. Another form of his control. One that I thought I would hate, but now I don’t even seem to care.
His fingers trace the mark beneath my breast. The brand he placed on me, claiming me as his from the very beginning. The skin is thinner there, and I can’t suppress the shiver that runs from me at his touch.
“Look at it,” he says, his voice deceptively soft, and I know he means the statue.
I look at it, arms still up on the ceiling ring. Ares’ hands settle on my hips from behind, his fingers digging forcefully into my skin enough to leave bruises as he presses his chest flush against my back, his cock against the valley of my ass. He’s still clothed, but I can feel the hard shape of his cock pressing against it, like a threat, and a promise all at once.
“Do you like it?” he whispers in my ear as I’m looking at the statue.
“It’s… you. Of course, I like it.” And I’m not lying. The piece of marble is a perfect representation of him, every detail captured by skilled hands. Even the same focused expression he sometimes gets when he’s fighting between control and arousal.
“Good,” he whispers again, this time they sound much more menacing. “Because you’re going to fuck it.”
The words are so unexpected that for a moment I think I’ve misheard them.
“What?” I turn to see his face, letting go of the ring. This must be some kind of joke.
But his expression remains serious, his eyes dark with lust, and something else. Something that could pass for jealousy, if that weren’t so absurd. “You heard me. You’re going to straddle that statue and fuck it while I watch.”
Yeah, sure… no way.
A startled laugh escapes me. “You’re crazy. That’s… that’s too perverted, even for you.”
He arches a brow. “Is it?” His hand slides from my hip to between my thighs, fingers finding moisture there that betrays my body's interest despite my verbal protest. “Didn’t think so.”
I jerk away from his touch, my cheeks burning with humiliation and some unwanted arousal I can’t admit to. “You really are crazy. I’m not doing that.”
He doesn’t argue, doesn’t repeat himself, and definitely doesn’t try to physically force me. He just steps back, creating space between us, and waits.
The patience in his gaze is unnerving. It’s the certainty of an immortal being who has all the time in the world, who knows that eventually, if he keeps me here long enough, I’ll give in.
That’s what infuriates me most. The knowledge that he’s right.
My eyes drift back to the statue, to its perfect marble reproduction of Ares’ body. The stone piercings draw my attention as they’re set with obscene precision.
My mouth goes dry with a curiosity that I try to push back, fighting with the last traces of my dignity.
“Why?” I ask, my voice way shakier than planned. “Why would you want me to do this?”
“Because you tried to kill me. I have to show myself that will never happen again,” he answers, his voice steady despite the intensity of the moment. “I need to assure you that you can’t live without me. After this, you won’t.”
